


Sweat It Out

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x15, Angst, M/M, episode fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t know how long this is going to take, trying to speed it up like this. Rapid dehydration. Got to sweat it out. Exercise would help, maybe Dean should start barking orders like a drill sergeant, drop and give me twenty. Doesn’t really know if Cole would respond to that. Doesn’t really want to try. They’re both miserable enough.  He can see something start to shift though, in Cole’s eyes. They get sharper, meaner. Dean knows it’s working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat It Out

It’s so hot and humid in the goddam cabin Dean swears he can feel his fucking pores. He sits half propped on the counter when he grabs a bottle of water, eyes fixed on Cole. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

He’s hyper aware of his body, of the sweat that drips down his back following the curve of his spine. The sweat that beads on his forehead and catches on his eyelashes. The sweat on the inside of his thighs that’s making his jeans too uncomfortable. 

Sweat it out. 

Yeah, well, that’s all well and good for what Cole needs to do. Dean’s stuck here because that’s just what he fucking does, this is his job, and Sam just had to drag him out on this weird case. It’s good they came after all. Who knows what Cole would have gotten up to on his own. Woulda tried to do the best thing, woulda tried to do right with what little knowledge he has. 

Dean’s shirt is drenched, sticking to his skin when he shifts it’s plastered to his chest. He hates the feel of wet clothes clinging to him, it starts to scratch, irritating. Cole keeps adding water to their make shift sauna to keep the place steamed up. Sweat it out. Dean can practically feel the guy’s eyes on him, especially when he has that water bottle to his lips. 

Cole stays on his side of the room. Dean watches. Both of them dripping and miserable and taut  with adrenaline. 

Dean can’t take it any more. He peels off his flannel shirt. There’s a few silver scars up the inside of his arm. And one big red one. Cole watches him. Not like there’s anything better to do. Just waiting. Sweating it out. 

It feels like it should be more awkward than it is, but they both know what needs to be done and there’s no use being more miserable than is necessary. Both of them end up stripped to their jeans, chests slick with sweat that darkens the waist of their pants. Cole is shorter, more compact. He’s trained in battle and he has his own scars, and a stubborn streak about as wide as Sam’s. Dean is pretty sure he can take the guy if he needs to. 

A few blisters start to break out on his face and he pants, watching when Dean goes for another water bottle, fingers twitching. Dean doesn’t know how long this is going to take, trying to speed it up like this. Rapid dehydration. Got to sweat it out. Exercise would help, maybe Dean should start barking orders like a drill sergeant, drop and give me twenty. Doesn’t really know if Cole would respond to that. Doesn’t really want to try. They’re both miserable enough. 

He can see something start to shift though, in Cole’s eyes. They get sharper, meaner. Dean knows it’s working. 

Tying him down probably would have been a good idea. 

Dean’s grip on his gun is solid but his palms are sweaty. They end up grappling on the hard wood floor of the cabin, rug bunched up under their rolling, furniture knocked aside. Hands slipping and smacking against each other. Cole bares his teeth, skin crinkling and blistering around his lips. Dean’s pretty sure he should grab his machete. Instead he pins Cole, face down, a knee pressed to the small of his back, arms wrenched behind him. Ain’t no going back, gotta sweat it out. 

Cole thrashes and snarls and retches, eventually heaving like a cat with a fucking hairball and that disgusting parasite comes crawling back up his throat. Dean squashes it under his boot. Cole rolls over onto his back, panting, bile and things Dean doesn’t want to think about in the corner of his mouth. 

Now he can pass over a bottle of water. Dean opens the windows because it’s too goddam hot and humid in there. His face is still dripping with sweat, he feels like he’s lost five pounds of water weight. Cole is right there, shaking a little, doing his best not to show how rattled he is. 

Dean gets it. The high on adrenaline and the reckless need after something like that. Hell, he’s taken advantage of it plenty of times himself. Gotta say, it’s not what he really expected from Cole.

But then he gets a confession. 

_My wife left me…_

And yeah he really doesn’t need to be in this cabin. Needs to find Sam. Feels like he sweated out his fucking common sense and his arm is itching and everything’s so wet he cant’ even scratch it proper, blunt nails sliding over sweaty skin.

_Didn’t mind when I was obsessed with something she didn’t think I’d ever get to. After all this, after finally knowing. That’s when she decided to snap._

It’s fucking shitty. Everything’s fucking shitty in this line of work. Dean’s not too good at the slap on the back condolences. That’s Sam’s thing. He’s been trying so hard to be less of a monster. Doesn’t feel like he’s gotten that far. Old habits die hard. 

He wants to break something. Kill something. Drink himself senseless. Fuck something. Drive off this goddam cliff he’s been straddling like a good stiff wind would be enough to send him over. Shit but his arm itches. 

Cole drains three bottles of water, passes the last in the cooler to Dean. The fire is still going, keeping the place lit up and casting flickering shadows, but there’s a cold breeze from the window. Sweat drying tacky on his skin. The place is a mess. He’s a mess. His life is a mess. 

Dean slams Cole against the wall and he’s pretty sure the only thing he wants to do is send his fist into the man’s face. Sure, he’s change a good bit, but he still hurt Dean’s brother. Hell a lot of people have. Dean’s not too sure how well he’s handling being under Sam’s thumb so goddam much. His body aches and his arm shakes. 

Cole presses back. It still smells like burned flesh in the cabin. The blisters on his face faded almost immediately, but his forearms are still scored with angry red burns. Dean’s not really sure if they’re fighting, or something else. Both. 

They end up tangled on the couch, jeans pushed down to the tops of thighs, fingers gouging into one another, mouths angry, bodies hard and slick with sweat. Dean’s not really sure what happens but he’s never really had the most appropriate reactions to these sorts of things. He doesn’t really know why Cole’s got a hand wrapped around his cock and teeth latched on to his shoulder. Doesn’t really care.

Heaving and sweat soaked, still trembling from adrenaline, they get it out of their systems. Sweat it out. 


End file.
